Post navigation

Inès sez…

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for another quote from my fashion icon.

Inès sez…
En mai, mets ce qu’il vous plaît! Ok, she stole that line from a classic French saying which warns you that you still need your winter wardrobe in April, but May you can do as you please. And, yes, I am aware I have already ranted about our freezing cold spring and my lack of optimism for May.

But Inès isn’t necessarily talking about the weather, she recommends going all out to please your inner fashionista, even if it displeases your man. Which is very un-Parisienne of her, because although the local women dress to please themselves, they do so keeping in mind their man’s taste and respecting it with in the limits of their own tastes.

I know Parisiennes who don’t wear platform shoes, or open-toed pumps, or the color pink, all because their men don’t like it. And I know even more divorces that have resulted in immediate shopping sprees collecting platform shoes, open-toed pumps or pink shirts.

It was hard for my hippy dressing little self to understand at first. When Mr French would say things like, “You don’t really plan on going out with that handbag, do you?” I’d do a double take. Seriously, imagine that coming out of the lips of an American alpha male. You’d think you’d entered the Twilight Zone!!!

So every spring, Inès suggests going a bit wild and putting on that pink shirt even if Monsieur detests the color. Especially if Monsieur detests the color (I’m paraphrasing now). There are two advantages to this strategy. You get to wear that beloved pink shirt you’ve been keeping in the back of your closet for ages and Monsieur gets a loving reminder that “you’re not the boss of me”. Keeps him on his toes. Spices things up a bit and keeps you just a tad more interesting, because he never knows what to expect.yet its not threatening at all, because there you are, by his side, savouring the month of May.

I’m wearing blue, white, and khaki with an olive green trench. That makes FOUR colors. Did you hear me, FOUR!!!
As any self-respecting Parisienne knows, the legal limit is three, so I clash. Officially. And I’m loving it!!!! Unfortunately Mr French is in the air somewhere over China. Or perhaps Australia, so my rebelliousness is lost on him until Saturday… hrumpf!